


Flights of Angels

by Fyre



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 04:57:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19716661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: An angel, a demon, a lot of wine and an unexpected series of revelations.





	Flights of Angels

“Y’know what I never understood?”

Aziraphale peered blearily across the room at the demon. “Tha’s a long list. Need to be more specific.”

Crowley made a face at him. “Y’know what I mean.” He sat up on the couch, waving in Aziraphale’s direction. “You. Never understood it. Why you listened to ‘em. Did what they were told. Specially that stuffy git.”

Aziraphale squinted at him. “Which stuffy git?” he asked, reaching for the bottle of wine to refill his glass.

“Him up there!” Crowley gestured to the ceiling.

“Mr. Hopkins?”

The demon rolled his eyes. “No! Archangel fucking Gabriel!”

Aziraphale frowned. Partly because the bottle was already empty. “Can’t call him that,” he chastised, reaching for one of the not-empty bottles. “S’an archangel.”

“Yeah? And? You’re a prinshi– prints– prince-e-pal-ity.” He waved a hand vaguely. “Rank above him, yeah?”

Azirphale winced. “Sort of.”

“What’s sort of?” Crowley demanded. “You’re a boss angel.”

Aziraphale considered the wine, then considered the conversation. Not one to have when you can’t even read the labels. He concentrated, watching the bottle refill, shuddering as sobriety returned. “Technically,” he said, “I wasn’t a Principality.”

“Well, yeah, not anymore…”

Aziraphale fidgeted with the glass. “I mean– before. Technically.”

“Technically?” Crowley peered at him. “Wos technically about it? Your job description, yeah?”

“Recently, yes.”

That made the demon frown, puzzled. “Eh?”

“Well… er…” He cleared his throat and quoted, “He drove the man out and stationed the cherubim and the flaming, whirling sword east of the garden of Eden.”

There was silence, then the tinkle of Crowley’s glass hitting the floor.

“You were one of the cherubim.”

The angel fidgeted again. “I mean, technically, sort of, _yes_ , but–”

“A Cherub.”

“I mean, I didn’t do very well at it, but–”

“A _Cherub_.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Well, you don’t need to say it like that! And anyway, I was demoted down to principality, so it hardly counts.”

Crowley held up a hand, then curled all but one finger down. Said finger pointed at the angel. “I’ve known you for _six_ millennia and you never bothered to tell me you were a bloody Cherub? Second bloody order of angels? One of God’s enforcers?”

“Well, if you paid attention to the book!”

“Oh!” Crowley threw his hands up. “Read, he tells me! Secrets of his life, he tells me! In the book I can’t look at because it makes my eyes bleed, he tells me!”

It was like a firm smack in the face. “Oh!” Aziraphale blushed hotly. “I forgot.”

“Mm.” Crowley snorted. “Not the first thing you’ve forgotten, is it?” He shook his head. “Bloody _Cherub_.”

“It’s not as if I actually _smote_ anyone,” Aziraphale said indignantly. “I can hardly be considered a real Cherub now, can I?”

“Counts,” Crowley said, slouching back on the couch. “Still counts.” He shook his head with a disgusted look. “Should have guessed. Flaming sword. She didn’t just hand them out to any old angel, did she?”

Aziraphale made a face, retrieving his second-hand wine and refilling his glass. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

“S’true,” Crowley grumbled, gesturing. His glass leapt from shards on the floor into his hand. “‘The strongest of arm and of will.’” He gave Aziraphale a suspicious look. “Maybe she was having an off day.”

“Hey!” It was one thing to be self-deprecating, it was another entirely to be insulted.

“Just saying!” Crowley exclaimed, picking up one of the half-empty bottles from the floor. “Putting you in the ranks of Cherubim s’like making a duck play the bagpipes.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t work, does it? Ducks can’t play bagpipes.”

Aziraphale glowered at him. “If that’s the case, then it was part of the ineffable plan.”

Crowley snorted. “Yeah. S’all so ineffable. You being the kind to give away your sword. Me being the one on temptation duty in the garden. And then we run into each other after you…” He paused, frowning. “Actually…” He eyed Aziraphale suspiciously. “Y’know, we’re not wrong. I think she _did_ plan all this. She knew what we were like. Saw it coming.”

Aziraphale choked on his wine. “She hardly knew _me_ ,” he said, shocked. “I was only one of _millions_.”

The demon gave him a look. “Course she knew you, you daft bugger. She picked you to be a Cherub, didn’t she? On purpose. Gave you the sword. Knew you were soft enough to give it away. Knew I’d be there and I’d…” He trailed off, a distant look on his face. “Knew I’d like that.”

“Because you’re a demon!” Aziraphale hastily latched on to the old, familiar argument.

“Yeah…”

His voice was so quiet and dazed that Aziraphale leaned closer to look at him. “Crowley? Are you all right?”

The demon shook his head slowly from side to side. “Just when you think you understand someone…” He met Aziraphale’s gaze through the dark lenses of his glasses. “Always asked too much, y’know. They didn’t like that. The rest of them. Don’t know if she did. Or not. Didn’t think so. Hard to tell with her. Very good at poker-face. But maybe she did. Maybe she wanted someone to do the asking.”

Aziraphale gaped at him. “You _questioned_ the Almighty?”

Crowley shrugged, turning his glass between his hands. “Someone had to.”

“To her _face_?”

“Well yeah, b–” Crowley stopped short, staring warily at the angel. “Oh. Shit.”

Aziraphale felt as if someone had pulled the rug out from under him. Very few angels were permitted the blessing of being in the presence of the Almighty. Not even in the early days. There were only a handful who saw Her in all her glory.

“You–” His voice hitched shakily. “ _You_ –”

“Angel…” Crowley looked panicked, holding up a hand. “It’s not like–”

“You lecture me about being a _Cherub_!”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley leaned forward urgently. “Look, you don’t– it was a long time–”

“And you were a god-damned Seraph!”

The word rang out like a thunder-clap and Crowley sagged back on the couch.

“Fuck.”

“Were you?” Aziraphale’s head felt light, his hands trembling around his glass. “Were you a Seraph?”

Crowley winced, then reached up and pulled his glasses off, staring across at the angel. “Does it matter?”

“Does it matter?” Aziraphale echoed, staring at him. Suddenly pieces of an eternal puzzle started to make sense: why Crowley was allowed to roam freely on earth when no other demon did, why he was the one sent to the Garden in the first place, why – when it came down to the wire – he was able to stop time itself for everyone including the Morningstar. The fiery serpent, he remembered in shock. The fiery burnished serpent or the seraphs. The words were so often interchangeable and he hadn’t even realised. Aziraphale ran a shaking hand over his mouth. “You were a _Seraph_.”

“S’not like I’m not the same person I’ve always been,” Crowley pointed out, fidgeting. “At least for as long as we’ve known each other.”

“But–”

“I _Fell_ , angel,” Crowley sighed. “I Fell. I’m not– I’m a demon now. What I was… it’s gone.”

“Bullshit.”

Both of them stared at each other and Aziraphale’s hand leapt to cover his mouth.

“Bullshit?” Crowley echoed, raising his eyebrows. One side of his mouth twitched. “Did you just ‘bullshit’ me, _cherub_?”

“I know you!” Aziraphale blurted out, unable to stop himself. “I was there with you, Crowley! I saw everything you did to protect this world. To save us and it. Don’t tell me that’s not the work of one of God’s highest angels.”

To his astonishment, Crowley flushed, red spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. “Shut up.”

“I won’t!” Aziraphale leaned forward in his seat. “You said you think God planned this from the beginning. Well, let’s say you’re right. Let’s say she did. She _wanted_ you to be here. On earth. Both of us! She needed people she could rely on to–”

“To break all the rules,” Crowley interrupted. “To be completely useless at our actual jobs!”

“Well, yes!” Aziraphale said, jabbing a finger at him. “You challenged her before! She knew if you could challenge her, you wouldn’t hesitate to challenge Hell itself! Or Heaven for that matter! She knew you could do it! To the devil with all the red tape and rules and everything that the angels put in place! We are her affirmative action to help humanity!”

Crowley blinked at him. “Oh.” He cocked his head. “And she knew you’d give away your sword. She knew you’d help them too.”

“You see!” Aziraphale lifted his chin defiantly. “I told you! I was always meant to be a principality. That… situation at the garden was just a cover. I’m not a Cherub.”

“Oh, but you are, angel.” Crowley grinned suddenly, like the burnished snake he was. “An enforcer for the will of God. Stood against Satan himself with a flaming sword.”

Aziraphale deflated. “Oh. Damn. I suppose I did.”

Crowley snickered. “Look at us,” he said, tilting the bottle in his hand towards Aziraphale. “Cherub and Seraph, saving the world.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help wincing. “You know, I think I prefer principality and demon,” he said. “It’s sounds so much less… authoritarian.”

Crowley grinned at him. “You started it.” He leaned over the space between them and clinked his bottle against Aziraphale’s glass. He wiggled his eyebrows and quoted, “We know what we are, but not what we may be.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale beamed at him. “I _knew_ you liked it.”

“Yeah,” Crowley drawled, sprawling back in his chair. “And I knew you were a principality all along.”

“Oh!” A gesture made a book – only a paperback – leap off the shelf behind the demon and knock him firmly on the head.

“Oi! Angel!”

Aziraphale sniffed. ”Serves you right.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley grumbled, mopping at wine on his shirt. “Give me another bottle.”

And as easily as that, their world swung back onto its familiar course and, as the evening progressed, the former Seraph and former Cherub proceeded to get utterly and spectacularly drunk.

**Author's Note:**

> Turns out that there's [an interesting definition of Seraphim](https://amuseoffyre.tumblr.com/post/186116121810/heres-a-thing-one-of-the-definitions-of-seraphim) :) And depending on which canon you use, Principalities rank higher than Archangels in the angelic hierarchy. So naturally, I had to explore this :D


End file.
